Myth of the Moon Goddess - The Aradia Chronicles, Books One, Two and Three

by Rane, April

  “Hold on to the name,” she repeated to herself. “It’s so dark …oh… I am in the womb.

  Oh …

  What is the name? Yes! Now I remember.”

  Hands reached in, turning her, gently drawing her into the world …

  And Eurynome was born.

  How much has to be explored and discarded before reaching the naked flesh of feeling.

  ~Claude Debussy~

  Our story begins approximately two thousand and three hundred years ago, in the rich woodlands surrounding the ancient city of Eregli. To the north shimmers the Black Sea, and to the north east the coveted city of Hattusus, home of the Goddess Cybele.

  ~Aradia has been reborn, and she has taken the name Eurynome,

  which means ~ Earth’s Moon. ~

  Darkness invaded a cluster of small huts huddled in a clearing, shadowed by ancient oaks. A small bent figure paced back and forth, illuminated only by the dim flickering glow of coals from the now abandoned fire pit. Her eyes searched darkly knotted trees for a glimpse of anything that moved, while her ears strained to catch a whisper from the forest. It seemed like hours had passed before she was rewarded with the sight of a gracefully moving figure striding confidently through the darkness. Tension left the shoulders of the old woman as the shadowy form emerged from the trees and moved effortlessly to her side.

  “I’ve been worried!” the old woman exclaimed. “The sun has been down for a great while. Where have you been?”

  “Grandmother,” declared Eurynome rolling her eyes to the heavens. “I find my way by moonlight just as well, if not better than by the light of the sun. It is my birth right. Besides, I went to seek a vision, and I have been assured that I am going on the pilgrimage.”

  “Child, we have been over this before. There will be no pilgrimage for us! I will not speak on the subject!”

  The smoky walls of the small dwelling welcomed them as Eurynome bent to open the flap on their thatched hut.

  In an effort to calm her grandmother, she quickly made a fire and shook out a faded wool blanket, worn and soft from years of use. Smoothing it down, she placed it in front of the fire. Lovingly, and with great respect, she addressed the woman that had raised her.

  “Come Mamma. Tell me again of my birth and the strange happenings of that night. Let us sit by the fire and share the berries I have gathered while you tell me the story.”

  “You have heard it over and over my child. I am weary. Let me rest.”

  Sighing, the old woman eased her slender body on to the blanket by the fire. Her bones were feeling stiff from the chilled air, making her keenly aware of her years. As she brushed a wisp of long chestnut hair from her face, her dark brown eyes closed. When she opened them again, Eurynome was sitting next to her on the blanket, with an expectant brightness in her eyes.

  In the end, the story was told, for when Eurynome called her Grandmother Mam ma, her heart went out to this motherless child.

  As Eurynome’s grandmother sat by the fire gathering her thoughts, she looked intently at the curious mixture of child and women before her, who carried the powers of old. The royal blood had been passed down from mother to daughter, it shined through her worn clothing and unshorn hair. She was a rare beauty, thought Theba, taking in every detail of her tall and lithe grand-daughter, who was well muscled from her training with Jontue. Her hair always amazed her. Its rich russet color shimmered in the sunlight as the streaks of auburn glistened and formed a halo around her head. A deep sigh escaped grandmother’s lips. But it was when Eurynome pinned and wound it around her head in a way that highlighted her high cheek bones and piercing golden eyes that she looked most like a queen. As she often did, the old woman wondered who had fathered this extraordinary child.

  With resignation, and the hint of a smile, her grandmother began the story with the very same words that she always used.

  “Once, a very long time ago, at the first hint that I might be with child, a goddess appeared in my dream. She told me her name was Desimena. I’ll never forget the sight of her. Her dark olive skin and deep rich raven hair was not anything I had ever seen in this world. The golden sparks of her sable brown eyes held my attention and her lips formed a perfect bow, as she assured me I would have a beautiful daughter. I could feel her garment brush me, as she came closer as if to tell me more. Her blue-green robe, the color of the Aegean Sea, had golden writing on the flowing cuffs; they caressed my face as she leaned forward and whispered a special message in my ear.”

  “Tell me! Tell me exactly what she whispered, please, just this once Mamma!”

  “All in good time my child.”

  The old women chewed the berries slowly until, finally wiping the juices from her mouth with the back of her hand, she continued her story.

  “I never knew my daughter was with child until the night you were born. It was an ominous night, filled with screeching owls and the howling of the wolves. There were many clouds in the sky and your mother and I were piling fir-wood branches in the openings of our hut so that our belongings would not be damaged. It was certain there would be a cloud burst and a blowing, for we had had an omen earlier in the day. A blackbird had entered our hut, which of course means death. But then he called out three times, which portended a birth. I tried to engage your mother in a conversation about the confusing message, but she had become very quiet, and chose to work on this very blanket that we are sitting on.”

  Grandmother lovingly stroked the soft wool, a mist forming before her eyes as she continued.

  “I gathered up my herbs, thinking it would be Theta, your mother’s friend, giving birth. She was ‘near her time’ you see. I called out to your mother to gather the straw matting and cloth, in case we were called, but she did not answer me and I found her at the door of our hut, curled up and moaning. Blood swirled around her and mixed with the new falling rain. When I reached for her, my hand fell upon her belly and a jolt of energy ran up my arm, and with it a vision of a young woman leading other women in a revolt against…I know not what! They were burning a village, sparing the women and children, yet killing the men. I pushed the vision away, for I knew I was losing my daughter with every moment that I delayed. Pulling her into the hut, I raised her legs and lowered her back in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. I knew that I would have to bring out the child soon or both would die. I bathed my hands in fennel water and quickly returned to her.”

  She paused for a moment to look lovingly at Eurynome.

  “I reached in. I turned you gently, and pulled you forth,” she went on, “and in that split second a loud clap of thunder shook the hut and a flash of lightning filled the room. Though the door was by then sealed to the weather, we were surrounded with golden light as the fir branches fell from the opening and I could see the full of the moon. I christened you as your mother clutched my hand. She never spoke, though she smiled when I placed you to her breast. She died peacefully with you in her arms.

  I never knew the man who fathered you. But I did know what to name you, as that is what the goddess whispered when her apparition appeared in the luminescent light. She told me that my daughter had something very special to do. She was to birth Earth’s moon, and when she accomplished that her mission here on earth would be done. So as I looked at the radiance of the Moon and holding your mother’s hand, I named you Eurynome. The storm suddenly ceased and feathery moonbeams caressed your face. As I lifted you from her breast, I could swear that you reached your tiny hand out to play with the wispy light of the Moon. I have not had a vision or a dream since that time.”

  Eurynome reached out and hugged her grandmother. “It’s all right Mamma. I am here. I love you very much.”

  “I know, child, but my heart aches that I did not know your mother’s pain and that we could not talk of your birth and plan for you. I now know that she gave her life gladly to bring you into the world, because there is greatness lying ahead for you. I want you to know that you have been enormous comfort to me in my aging.”<
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  She stroked Eurynome’s head with gentleness and care, feeling deep love for her daughter’s child. She missed her daughter, though they had never been as close as she and Eurynome had become. Indeed they were opposites. Her daughter was trying always to please everyone, whereas Eurynome seemed not to care what people thought about her, though she seemed to always study people and their intentions.

  “Grandmother, is this why you worry so when I am gone long in the woods? Do you think my mother was raped by one from a marauding band, or one of the gods known to stalk the woods looking for virgin prey? My mother could not deny a god her virginity, yet she would feel ashamed that she was dishonored. It will not happen to me! I will cut the heart out of any man or god that takes me against my will! I have my knife.” She pulled it from its hiding place in a flash.

  “Yes child, I can see that you are well armed, but rape can be of the mind as well as the body.”

  Eurynome looked at her grandmother and huffed, “No man will trick me! I am prepared. I have come to make war on men.”

  “Yes child, I have heard you say that, but what does it mean? Never will you take a husband? Do you have such disdain for men that you will never mate?”

  Eurynome grew quiet and withdrawn, and her grandmother knew she would get no answers on this particular night. Her thoughts ran back over the last many winters snuggled by the fire listening to Eurynome’s fantastic tales.

  She would speak of a battle she would win, all the while carving a weapon she called a labry, a double sided hatchet, from a special piece of wood called Laurel Oak. She would tell her grandmother Theba, “One day I will have a real labry, made from a very special piece of iron ore that fell from the sky. When it is ready I will ride out into the night to my destiny. I have seen it in a vision.”

  Theba shivered, as chills ran up and down her body, and she remembered the vision from the night of Eurynome’s birth. It came back in a flood and it brought tears to her eyes. She had never told Eurynome the end of the vision and did not want to think of it now.

  “Grandmother, what is wrong? Are you feeling ill?”

  “No. No child, just a chill. Come let us make for our beds as the sun will not wait on us on the morrow.”

  Eurynome watched as the red tailed hawk circled in the sky. His agility thrilled her and his attention to his prey was mesmerizing. She knew he had spotted his morning meal as she watched the circles grow smaller, and he flew closer to the clearing on the other side of the stream. She also knew he would land high up on the gnarled branches of the sacred oak by the water to enjoy his treat. He was keeping a steady eye on her, and would fly off if her gaze became too intrusive. When he wasn’t hunting, he would sit close to her in contentment, as many of the animals did.

  Most would not have heard Jontue’s stealthy approach, but he had trained Eurynome well. Turning, she cautioned him to be still and motioned with her head to the hawk now sitting on the tree with his meal. Jontue stopped for a moment before moving toward her in absolute silence and joined her, sitting on a fallen tree by the stream. Both of them knew not to be too curious of the hawk and his prey, though both stole fleeting glances in fascination of the hunter.

  The hawk, finishing his meal, flew in an enormous circle, silently tipping his wing as if to thank his friend for her respect.

  “So we prepare you for your pilgrimage?” Jontue said, turning to Eurynome. The dimple that accompanied the smile made it clear that he had something exciting to share. “The blacksmith is done with your labry, and says it is a fine weapon. He also made something special for me, something very special. He thinks, as many do, that I am going on the journey with the women. But I had it made as a gift for you. You have not told anyone that …well…that I cannot go?”

  “No,” she told him. “If it would help you feel better, then I will stay. There is always next year. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Nomie, I know that you would stay if I needed you, but I also know that you want to go on this pilgrimage more than life itself.”

  Eurynome peered at the swelling on his forearm; the wound was red and jagged. Thinking of his valor protecting the fortress at Hattusus, she realized yet again, just how proud she was to know him.

  “Jontue, how are you sure that the arrow that nicked you was prepared with a slow poison? Couldn’t it just be the same sickness that comes upon you when you stay in the village too long?”

  “I have only been back from Hattusas less than three days. I see all the signs of the blue death. No one has been able to find a cure for what some call the slow death. I am certain, I’m afraid, that it was indeed a poison arrow. The fact that it only grazed me will make its effects slower than usual. You know that my health was failing anyway. This is just a quicker way to join the Goddess in the heavens.”

  He smiled at her lovingly and added, “I have taught you that there is no death, and to be afraid of death creates an imbalance in the birth, life, and death process. I will be fine. But you need a bit more instruction and now you will have a wonderful new weapon. Come. Walk me back to my village.”

  “You act as though you are going on a journey, like the pilgrimage I am to go on! Who will I talk to, who will understand the memories and the questions and….well, all of it?”

  “I am not going anywhere. I cannot die because I will be ever present in your heart. You will still be able to talk to me. You’ll just have to listen differently.”

  As they walked back to his village, Eurynome questioned him intensely about what the blacksmith had made, but he would not relent and give her the information she cunningly sought. Instead, he questioned her on her knowledge of animal tracks and the sounds that animals make when hunting, when in distress or the unusual sounds they sometimes make to fool their prey into thinking they are harmless.

  On the little used path, small branches and leaves snapped under their feet. Gnarled branches hanging over the trail were pushed aside or subdued by Jontue’s sturdy blade. Eurynome’s golden eyes held concern as she stole an occasional glance at Jontue to see if he was out of breath or if she could detect a blue tone to his skin. When he breathed a sigh of relief as they crested the top of the hill, Eurynome stopped.

  “It amazes me that as close as we are we cannot see your village from here,” she said.

  Being out of breath but not wanting her to know, Jontue did not comment. He gratefully stood by her side, taking a moment to rest. He signaled her with a nod that he was ready to continue and they walked carefully down the winding path that led to the embankment of his camp.

  Once on solid ground, Eurynome glanced at Jontue as if looking at him for the first time. Though he was ill, his countenance glowed. The proud chiseled lines and high cheek bones of his face accented the softness within his eyes. They were mesmerizing and had a depth of love and kindness she had seen in no other. How was it, she wondered now, that she had never noticed that his countenance spoke of strength and his eyes held peace and solace?

  Arriving at his village, he was greeted warmly by the few men that made up the small band of warriors. The men ranged in ages from eleven years to that of forty-nine, which as a warrior was an age to be proud of. Their village was stark, with very little shelter and hardly any sound except the blacksmith hard at work fixing or replacing the weapons that they had used in their last skirmish.

  Eurynome was the only woman who had ever been inside their village. When she first arrived as a curious little girl on the shoulders of Jontue, the inhabitants had all steered clear of her and she of them, as she trusted no man except Jontue. She very seldom ventured into their sanctuary and when she did, they just nodded in her direction and made themselves scarce. It was in deference to Jontue’s stature as scout, as well as knowing that he would bring no one into their safe haven unless they were to be trusted, that they allowed it at all. Most of them had a price on their head, or would be run to ground till dead if they could be found. So they guarded their privacy at all cost. Everyone in Eurynome’s
village knew of them, but no one except her could ever find their refuge.

  “Palion!” shouted Jontue over the racket. “Palion, I am here to retrieve the labry I had you make for Eurynome.”

  Palion was a giant of a man with the roar of a lion. In fact, he was sometimes called Lion and Eurynome, seeing him now from so close, could see why. His hair was red and seemed to stand up around his head in all directions. His beard covered most of his face, and only his red cheeks seemed prominent as his eyes had the lazy look of being half closed. But she knew that to ever think that this man did not see everything that went on around him would be a grave mistake. Perhaps the lazy eye look fools his enemies, pondered Eurynome. But it doesn’t fool me.

  He roared a greeting to Jontue, and unenthusiastically nodded in her direction as he reached for the labry that he had made for her, although she recognized his reluctance since he never made anything for a woman. She also knew instinctively that they had been enemies in a past life.

  Quietly standing her ground and ignoring the way he was glaring at her, she respectfully asked him if she could take a closer look at the weapon he had crafted. His pride for his work then came to the surface, and he began telling her how he had forged the labry from the special metal rock that Jontue had brought him. At the edges, each blade was as thin as a piece of grass and there could be no question by its look of its sharpness. Taking it in her hand, she felt how the handle fit comfortably, and the doubled blade shone black-blue like that of a raven’s wing.

  “You made this from my crude drawing?” questioned Eurynome.

  “No,” he sneered in disdain, his natural suspicion of her returning.

  “Palion, tell Eurynome how you came to know of this fine weapon,” Jontue prompted.